In Plain Sight
by LadyoftheDrow
Summary: Sometimes, you need to stop whatever you're doing and take a good look around, who knows, you might find something hiding in plain sight that you didn't even know you were looking for. Though it won't make your cup of bad coffee taste any better. Oneshot


_**A/N: **__Another Lady-verse fic, so, it includes my ZeroProgram!Cloud and ExGeneral!Sky concepts._

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><p><strong>In Plain Sight<strong>

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><p>"<em>When a thing is funny, search it carefully for a hidden truth." – <em>_**George Bernard Shaw**_

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><p>The Zero Program.<p>

The 'fast track' to getting into SOLDIER, or getting into Verdot's Black Ops division, it was usually pretty small. A class might hold anywhere from eight to twenty students, and most years, only six successfully graduated. Being a Zero graduate was a prestigious accolade, hell, most of First Class were Zeroes, Sephiroth being one of the _very _few exceptions.

Angeal took a sip of his coffee, heavy with sugar in a fruitless attempt at masking the acrid taste of the doubly-burned liquid. The pains of frugality . . . though it was really his own fault for daring to drink the office brew, he'd run out of his home-baked stash earlier that week and hadn't had the opportunity to buy raw beans again yet.

He peered through the window into the training room, lips quirking at the sight of the largest Zero class yet at twenty-two boys, and five young women. He didn't dare call them girls, as being at least sixteen, each had already received their full height and were well on their way to womanhood.

It was a little-known fact that Director Scarlet was _highly _defensive of the female recruits, whether in the regular Academy, the Program, or SOLDIER itself. She kept a close eye on the female warriors, and rained utter _Hell _down on anyone who tried to undermine her 'Amazons.' The blond had also been the one who had the age minimum of sixteen put in place for female entrance, with an hour-long argument about pregnancy, feminine hygiene products, chocolate shortages, and hormones. In the end ShinRa had signed just to get her to shut up about the messier elements of the female reproductive system.

No man attending_** that**_ meeting looked at a woman the same way again.

It was a Freestyle Melee exercise from the looks of it, and a smile crossed his lips at the sight of one of his favorite parts of the Fighting Class. Twenty six practice weapons were scattered across the floor of the room, which had been converted into a desert flat, the twenty seven students standing in a loose semi-circle.

Even as he watched, the instructor called out, and 54 booted feet pounded across the sand. Some shoved their comrades aside before seizing their weapon of choice, others sprinted and dodged, until all but one student had a weapon in hand. The Runner for the session wasn't as short as some he'd seen, but the only ones shorter in the room were three of the female Zeroes. He was blonde, natural, judging by the shade, with a slim frame . . . perfectly suited for his current position.

The Runner was still for a moment, then ducked and rolled to avoid the sweep of a staff, coming up running behind one of the sword-wielding women. A palm-strike to her head and her shoulders slumped with an expression of dismay, before she plopped down on the sand, out for the round.

He continued to watch as the small Runner weaved around his comrades, dodging the strikes of those who chose to concentrate on him, while landing shots on those who chose to ignore him. It wasn't until half the class was out that things changed. Nine boys and three women surrounded him in a loose circle, shifting slightly, but waiting for the boy to make the first move.

Except a boy behind him acted first.

_Dishonorable little- _Angeal narrowed his eyes, then stared as the blond turned, wrapping his arm around the incoming spear, twisted, and braced, ramming the butt of the weapon in the taller blonde's gut. The larger boy hit the sand, lips moving rapidly in what was undoubtedly a string of curses.

The First chuckled, shaking his head at the payback. _That _had been one of his mentor's favorite ways of teaching Zeroes not to attack from behind. The primary concept of the war game was that a target was _never _unarmed. Though, if the Runner was defeated, it simply devolved into a mass spar.

One by one the participants decreased, before the Runner was struck by the last standing female Zero, a redhead wielding a Katar brace, who helped him to his feet as the instructor called out again.

He glanced up as a digitized scoreboard appeared in what seemed to be midair, watching as the alphanumeric symbols shifted before settling in the new arrangement. Curious, he skimmed down the names, noting a few as sharing names with Seconds, and even a few Firsts . . .

Strife, C.

Angeal stared at the fifth name on the list. It couldn't be . . . his eyes dropped to the students below, searching for the boy he'd met only a year before his mentor retired. He found his answer in the blond he'd just watched bolt around as Runner, catching sight of a pair of blue eyes of a particular rare vibrancy he'd only seen on perhaps three people. One of which being the boy's father, the man who'd mentored him upon graduation . . .

Sky Strife, the _second _General in the history of ShinRa, but the _first _in the history of SOLDIER. A man who'd become head of the corporation's military at the age of only 19, without a drop of Mako in his system. He'd only relented once to a Mako treatment, at the personal request of Ignatius ShinRa . . . then promptly retired at the cessation of his ten-year contract, and moved to the Western Continent with his wife and child.

His lips quirked, now the only son of that historic man was standing in front of him, smiling as the redheaded woman told him something while her shoulders shook with laughter. Most had forgotten about the man, but he knew he for one would be looking forward to what the uniquely-named boy would bring to ShinRa.

A flash of a little blond who'd insisted on calling him 'Angel' rose from his memory and he chuckled as he lifted his cup for another sip. It would certainly be interesting . . . he made a face of disgust.

Damn, his coffee was cold.

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><p><strong>Word Count – 1,024<br>Written – July 13****th****, 2011  
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